


If It Means a Lot to You

by Lliyk



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Holidays, Idiots in Love, If I Gotta Die Then We All Gotta Die, M/M, Non-bending AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27946289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lliyk/pseuds/Lliyk
Summary: Zuko’s been waiting an entire year for this. Now he’s ready.Aang feels a bit of apprehension crawl up his chest — tonight is their last night, and he feels it’s gone by too fast. He doesn’t want to go home yet, doesn’t want to go back to school and start his 3d habitat restoration early like he planned to. He wants to stay right here, curled up on this hammock, sea breeze on his face and Zuko pressed to his side.“I like it here,” he mumbles quietly as the wind slowly rocks them. “I don’t think I want to leave.”Zuko hums in agreement, eyes trained on the last strips of sunlight decorating the expanse of ocean laid out a few minutes walk before them. He sighs a little, buries his face in Aang’s neck and holds him a little tighter. “We can come back, sunshine.”
Relationships: Aang/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 44





	If It Means a Lot to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheWritersCottage](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWritersCottage/gifts).



> it me, ya girl, typing this up from purgatory bc my spirit is vengeful. this wasn’t inspired by music as much as it was my crippling need to slap my friend in the face with feels from the grave she put me in, but for your reading pleasure: [If It Means a Lot to You by A Day To Remember](https://open.spotify.com/track/6J7cSyvSCnPwv3vqHchEfL?si=0zjNXNliQH-rqeypcEJ5Lw). beware the typos!
> 
> #ifigottadiethenweallgottadie. comments are fuel ♡.

* * *

On the morning of their four year anniversary Aang rolls over to bite at Zuko’s mouth and demand a peaceful day together. Zuko rolls them over, settles his hips, bites back — ”Whatever you want,” — and promptly puts a pause on his legal work, turning off his phone and shutting down his laptop.

The sky is gray and threatens more snow, but together they take their time getting dressed, mouths red and teeth grazing skin until one of them finally cracks, undoes all their long and fought for work, quick and hard up against the wall by the window, lazy and slow under the warm spray of the shower.

“You owe me a new button down,” Aang glues himself to Zuko’s bare back, a matching towel around his waist and his skin equally as damp. Zuko shoots a look over his shoulder, mouth quirking, his hands too busy with breakfast — brunch.

“Only if you plan on replacing my jeans,” Zuko smirks. He can feel the warmth of Aang’s breath as he lets out a single dry laugh, a muttered _you didn’t even like those jeans,_ and then Zuko is smiling for real, something saccharine in his veins and warmth swelling through the cavity of his chest.

Zuko is suddenly hit with a memory, one with college debate team uniforms and dangerously defiant glares. “You know,” he starts off slowly, bringing the stirring spoon to his mouth distractedly. There’s another memory tickingling his mind, but he mouths off anyway. “if it weren’t for your sharp tongue, I would’ve never talked to you.”

Behind him Aang scoffs, “If it weren’t for my _tongue_ —” _there_ , Zuko remembers; an empty locker room and tension spiked air, a swollen mouth around his cock and then long tattooed legs around his waist; mingling breaths; their first time together, ”—you and I would've never been a thing in the first place.”

Zuko blinks his vision clear, a chuckle in his throat, because where is the lie in _that_? “You trying to say something, _Matreya_?”

The spoon is snatched from Zuko’s hand. Aang flicks the stove off, pushes Zuko to the side and into the counter with his hips, breathing his air. His mouth is parted and his lids are low, and Zuko knows then that it hadn’t been just him to remember.

“You know, _Rokura_ ,” Aang walks his fingers up Zuko’s abdomen, “that I know that you know that I might in _fact_ ,” runs the tips of them up the column of Zuko’s neck, tilts him by the chin, “be saying something,” and kisses him hard.

* * *

Zuko gives Aang an Hermès bracelet, gold braided and engraved with their initials — “It’s beautiful. I love it. I love _you_ ,” — weeks before, yet Christmas time still sees their townhouse decorated in silver garland, glinting white lights, presents from family and friends left under their tree, and every room completely empty.

The sky is darkening; orange, purples, and pinks leaking down through the snow clouds, and Zuko can’t help but wonder what Aang is trying to give him by taking them away from the warm comfort of their home in west Calgary and throwing him into his car for a drive. Aang refuses to say, keeping Zuko plenty distracted with his daring maneuvers on the wet road and his cheshire grin. It’s only after he looks up and recognizes that they’re headed north, that they’ve _passed_ the pet emporium Aang is so fond of, and are well on their way down the exit does he realize what’s happening. 

Zuko flicks the radio off, cutting _Jingle Bells_ short, and turns to Aang with wide eyes. 

“You’re _not_ ,” he accuses, and he watches Aang’s mouth turn up at the corner, gaze glinting as he continues to keep it on the road. 

“I am.”

No wonder his clothes have been steadily missing from the clean laundry. Zuko feels his chest expand with something ridiculously saccharine, and he fights the grin trying to break out on his face. Instead he bites his lip, taps at the dash and asks: “Can you pull over?”

“What?” They swerve a little, and Aang turns to him with furrowed brows and concerned eyes. 

Zuko doesn’t look at him, just silently puts his gloves on.

Aang exhales loudly, pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, glancing at the mirrors, and does as Zuko asks. He’s barely parked, hardly even turned the blinkers on before Zuko is up and out, door slamming.

Something like fear licks about Aang’s throat, and he follows Zuko to the shoulder of the road, wide eyed and worried. His boots are loud over the snowy gravel, and his breath comes out in white puffs when he speaks to Zuko's back.

“Is there something wrong? Do you want to stay home?” Aang questions, startles, when Zuko whirls around and pushes him up against the car, and just _grins_. “No,” Zuko says, “Aang, I’d follow you _anywhere_ ,” and then kisses Aang square on the mouth. Aang laughs into it, once he realizes that he’s not in trouble for being sneaky. Since the end of fall came around Zuko has been itching to leave the providence — “ _Sick_ and _tired of_ this _fluffy white bullshit_ on the ground,” — and Aang had latched onto the chance to deliver. What was a vacation home passed down to him for if not to vacation in, and what better time than the holidays?

The rest of the drive to the airport is brief, and their flight out west is just as. They arrive at the woodland property right as the clouds break, rental tires crunching over frosty sands and the moon sparkling brilliantly over the Georgia Strait’s bay. The air is only slightly warmer here, sweet with sea salt but still sharp with winter, and Zuko can barely contain his excitement when the lake house comes into view.

“I missed this,” he says moments later, bag unpacked and fireplace lit. Aang comes in from the kitchen and hands him a cup of tea, smiling a little guilty.

“I know,” he laughs a little, tugs at the ends of his sleeves. He thinks about the summers he spent here before Zuko, and after; how the fence outside is tilting and in need of a replacement, how the cabin’s paint is chipped and how the high tide sallows the crumbling seawall at the edge of the backyard. “To be honest your mom reminded me, but either way I would've taken you to a lake house on some lake, somewhere.”

“My mom is the best, obviously.” Zuko catches Aang’s reflection in the window. Aang hums in agreement, mouth once again pulled up at the corners, and it’s a second or two before he speaks up.

“Zuzu?”

Zuko blinks at the nickname, tries to remember when Aang last called him that, and turns, smile playing about his lips. “Yes, love?”

Aang peers out of the window. The moon is high, its reflection rippling lightly on the water just strides below. Aang steps over to him, rests his chin on his shoulder and examines his nails a bit. “You remember that one dream you had last month?”

“Uh,” Zuko waits a second, brow furrowing in confusion. “what dream?”

“You know,” Aang continues casually. “the one where I supposedly made love to you out in the water, under the moon, and then you woke up talking about how romantic it was? But then I told you it sounded like some lame scene from _Twilight_ and that you owe Sundance copyright money.”

Well, he remembers _now_. Something sharp shoots down his spine, and Zuko eyes Aang tentatively as he places his mug on the window sill. 

“... Mmhm.”

Aang slips away from him and peels off his sweater, leaving his blue-inked skin to absorb the golden saturation of the firelight before he turns on his heel and heads out by way of the deck, fingers undoing his belt. Aang cocks his head as he descends a step, catching Zuko’s gaze over his shoulder.

“So...” Aang starts, and Zuko feels his throat dry despite the tea. “do you want your present or not?”

“Aang,” Zuko chokes out. “it’s _winter_.”

“Hm.” Aang drops his jeans and saunters down the steps, disappearing into the dim shadows of the evening even as his voice trails. “I wonder how I’m going to stay warm...”

Zuko can’t recall the last time he’d undressed so quickly.  
  


***

The next morning Aang had woken with the full intent of getting his microbiology project turned in before anyone else — sadly being a double science major means vacations in winter aren’t actually _real_ — and had even gotten up an hour earlier just to assure that everything was in place and perfect, so that he could be done and focus on spending Christmas Eve with his boyfriend.

What he didn't intend, however, was being thrown off track and finding himself completely naked, or more gone than a bourbon-drunk stripper with daddy issues blowing rails off of a Hell’s Angel tailpipe.

“Dear fucking god.” Aang moans, teeth sinking into his lip and breath gone ragged.

“Zuko is just fine.” Zuko gives another sure thrust, making the cabin’s old dining table shake with the force. Revenge for last night, Aang _knows_ , so he pulls none-too-gently at his boyfriend’s hair and rolls his hips up, the slow grind providing just enough friction to make them both shake. “Fuck you,” he laughs.

“Oh, sunshine,” Zuko purrs, slipping back into rhythm, pushing fast and to the hilt, extracting a low keen from Aang, a litany of _fuck'_ s and _just a little deeper_. “only if you’ll be naughty for me.”

Aang turns in his project an entire forty eight hours late. His professor gives him flak, but he still makes the best grade. Aang decides that the slight limp in his walk is entirely worth it.

Merry Christmas to _him_.

* * *

The start of spring in Calgary is bright and pretty, all perfectly crisp weather and pale morning sunlight — but spring in Calgary brings rain instead of snow. Four and a half years ago not knowing the seasonal schedule was of no consequence. These days, however, Zuko makes a point to keep the earth’s rotation in mind.

He stirs at something faint, but he wakes fully to the steady pitter patter of rain against the windows of his home office, thunder rolling and his latest defendant’s case papers stuck to his face with cold drool.

“Oh,” slowly Zuko pulls off the papers and sets them away, wipes his mouth across the back of his arm and sits up to stretch. “it's raining.”

He cards his hands through his hair, sleepy eyes training out the droplet covered panes before catching on the bright orange mark on his wall calendar. Today's date is starred in the middle with a rain cloud and a lightning bolt, and only when he turns to check on someone who is not there does he actually realize that he spent the whole night in his study, and that it's _raining_.

The quietest sound of a muffled whimper makes its way to him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zuko curses sharply under his breath. He gets up and flicks the lights off before he pads down the short flight of stairs, peeking through the railings toward the master bedroom’s cracked door. The house is dim with the rainy dawn light, and he barely makes outlines of anything. “Aang?”

Zuko pushes the bedroom door open and stops.

Aang is buried at the edge of the bed, as far away from the windows as possible, wearing one of Zuko’s shirts and curled tightly around his pillow, toxicology books littering the floor, laptop and an empty mug settled in the midst of the pile. A crack of lightning lights up the place, and thunder rumbles once more. Another whine sounds from the blankets.

Zuko's heart melts in guilt as he makes his way over, peeling back the duvet and sliding in so it covers them both, and like a magnet, Aang adjusts himself into Zuko's hold, tangling their legs and lids barely fluttering open. Zuko sighs and places his lips against Aang's temple, murmuring sweet nothings and infinite apologies as he curls himself around his lover.

The rain lulls Zuko back to sleep, and when he wakes next it's to Aang sitting up with a shout, the _hiss-crack_ of lightning snapping something nearby outside.

“Aang.” Zuko calls him calmly. Aang whips around, dark gray eyes wide and glazed over, fingers tight around the shared blanket. 

“Come here, sunshine,” Zuko tugs at Aang's wrist and Aang hesitates for only a fraction before he falls into his hold. “I’ve got you,” Zuko promises, laying Aang's head on his shoulder and planting light kisses across his cheek. “I’ve got you.”

Thunder rumbles loudly, rattling the windows. Aang silently grips at Zuko shirt and buries his face at the crook of his neck, uttering a barely audible call of his name. Zuko’s heart wrenches, and he starts to hum one of his uncle’s soothing songs, the lows of his voice bringing Aang to relax in his hold.

Aang’s breathing begins to even out. The pitter patter of rain fluctuates, becomes a heavy, steady drum that has Zuko following Aang back into slumber, but he does not miss the three little words mumbled against the hollow of his throat.

* * *

Aang is a day away from the official end of his semester and Zuko thinks the cosmos are with him this time around, because their schedules are miraculously clear in the next few weeks and he can’t wait any longer. He’s been waiting for a year now, but Christmas had been the catalyst. Now he’s ready.

Aang is out with a friend — someone he shares a class with, a short girl with chestnut hair named Mary, if he remembers right — when he calls to request his presence.

Zuko waits for Aang to come home, perched on the stairs and a set of duffle bags at his feet. He’s wearing his jeans cuffed over his boots, the _sorry ladies_ tee Aang had gotten him as a gag gift some time ago hidden under his denim biker jacket. His pockets are heavy, and his fingers fiddle with the two rectangles of paper pressed between them.

Zuko only looks up when the lock clicks and the alarm beeps, smiles as he spots Aang lining up his shoes and ditching his jacket. 

“Hey,” Aang says, eyes on the bags by Zuko’s feet. “going somewhere?”

Zuko stands up, “Yeah, actually,” trots the last few steps and then holds up the twin slips of paper. He watches as Aang’s eyes narrow at the small script before widening, locking with his. Zuko grins, lopsided and in love. “Come with me?”

This time it’s Zuko who takes them north up Deerfoot and brings them to the airport. Their flight is long and uneventful, and between hushed conversation and light naps they watch the sun’s light skip above the clouds, only to dip behind a far away horizon. They land smoothly, sharing excited, sleepy smiles now that nineteen hours east have come and gone. The first hour is spent figuring out how to get out of the airport and to their hotel, which Zuko made sure to book on the coast somewhere nearby. The cozy suite hosts large windows that lead out to a wide balcony and a cute little kitchen, a small walk from the beach and not far from the main parts of the baytown.

The rest of their first night in Barcelona is a jet lagged blur — there are kisses in the shower and quiet laughs in the kitchen, tangled limbs when they fall into bed together, tired but content.

Aang opens his eyes to soft afternoon sunlight dancing through the windows the next day, spanish phrases circling his brain. He wakes Zuko with butterfly kisses about his face, trying his hardest not to giggle when Zuko’s brow furrows and his lips part in what Aang will never admit to calling the cutest fucking thing he’s ever seen.

“Wake up _mi amor._ ” Aang detaches himself from Zuko and slips out of bed, closes his eyes and stretches, startles a little when he looks down to see Zuko watching him, clear eyed and nearly glowing. “What?”

Zuko sits up, blankets falling away from his bare skin and his hair the perfect kind of messy. “Nothing,” he breathes, standing up to kiss Aang on the corner of his mouth. “nothing at all,” and then, “come on, let’s go to the beach. We’re only here for a few nights and I _know_ you want to play in the water.”

Aang pouts in mock affront but lets Zuko lead the way. They have lunch and spend hours in the sea, skin pruning, terribly made sand castles crumbling and ice cream melting too fast. Someone comes up to them at some point, mouth spilling spanish but intentions clear as he waves his camera. They leave the beach with handfuls of polaroids, grins on their faces and twin looks in their eyes.

When the sun starts to lower, Aang holds up a brochure from the hotel lobby, finger pointing at different dishes of spanish food and insists they go out for dinner at a place called _Don Picanton_. It takes them almost an hour to find it on foot. They have trouble ordering, their broken mix of spanish and english putting amused smiles on the locals faces, — “ _Pueno tenor esto?_ Uh— _please_?” — but getting them by well enough.

The food is delicious, and both of them have too much wine, amusing their waitress and falling into each other when they take their leave to walk the streets toward the Mediterranean. They sneak in kisses behind their interlocked fingers and stop every few minutes to check out shops and street food for later. They pass through the Citadel and sit for hours at the bay, talking about nothing and watching the distant rise and fall of the ocean. 

Aang tucks into Zuko and falls into a light doze as they quiet down and watch the waves. Zuko is no longer tipsy but he does feel drunk, the bundle of warmth in his arms enough to have him reeling any day. He sighs into Aang’s shoulder, simple nothings that mean everything and his pockets still heavy.

  
  
  


***

  
  


On the evening before their last in Barcelona Aang feels a bit of apprehension crawl up his chest — tonight is their last night, and he feels it’s gone by too fast. He doesn’t want to go home yet, doesn’t want to go back to school and start his 3d habitat restoration early like he planned to. He wants to stay right here, curled up on this hammock, sea breeze on his face and Zuko pressed to his side.

“I like it here,” he mumbles quietly as the wind slowly rocks them. “I don’t think I want to leave.”

Zuko hums in agreement, eyes trained on the last strips of sunlight decorating the expanse of ocean laid out a few minutes walk before them. He sighs a little, buries his face in Aang’s neck and holds him a little tighter. “We can come back, sunshine.”

“Yeah?” Aang looks up at him, eyes tired and mouth smiling. “Whatever you want,” Zuko tells him in assurance, a promise. He runs his hand up the sky-blue line of the arm Aang doesn’t have curled between their bodies. The ocean waves lull them, and Zuko noses at Aang when he tries to keep his eyes open.

“Go on and sleep,” he insists. “We've got a flight in the morning,” and Aang mumbles something into his chest, further tangling their legs before his breathing falls even, the rise and fall of his back steady under Zuko’s hands.

  
  
  


***

  
  
  


Aang wakes alone, sun just above the horizon, hammock otherwise empty and a blanket keeping him warm. He slips off of the contraption carefully, a little bothered that Zuko let him sleep outside on the balcony. His legs are heavy and he can feel the indentations of crisscrossing rope on one cheek.

He steps off the balcony and into their hotel room, hand tugging his — _Zuko’s_ , he mentally corrects — oversized tee down to fall by his bare thighs. He pauses as he notices their packed bags and the breakfast waiting on the bedside table. There’s a small sticky note, and Aang peers at it, easily reading Zuko’s slanted scrawl.

_In case you wake: went to take care of something. Back in a bit._ _— **Z**_

Aang can feel his brows furrow, but his stomach protests, and he exchanges his sleepy questions for sleepy thoughts of food instead. He slides the note aside, reaches out to lift the lid of the breakfast tray — and then something glints from the corner of his eye. 

There is a golden box tucked haphazardly under the pillows. 

Aang doesn’t hesitate. He has it open in his hands before he realizes, and he gasps, once, twice, feels his eyes prickle with tears as his pulse pounds in his ears. He misses the opening of their suite’s front door, too busy staring because it _fits_ , and he lets out a low, short and strangled sound fall from his mouth when he notices his name being called.

Zuko is standing by the door, eyes soft and glinting, mouth pressed into a curious line and hands clutching their passports. He takes one look at what Aang has in hand and pales.

Aang stares, tears running hot down his cheeks, vision turning blurry; dumbstruck for all of a second longer; and then he is moving, running around the bed and crashing into Zuko, fingers gripping onto his shoulders and his eyes squeezing shut.

“You—” Zuko steps away a little, makes Aang look at him and hold his hand out so that he can run his thumb over the diamond-studded white gold decorating his finger. Zuko lets out a wan laugh. “is that a yes?”

Aang feels his knees buckle and his breath stutter, throat catch, his memories flash. Zuko looks at him with something he doesn’t have words for, and then Aang is crashing into him all over again, pressing kisses to every inch of Zuko that he can reach.

“ _Yes_ ,” Aang whispers, heart warm and lungs numb. “yes, Zuko. A thousand times, _yes_.”

  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  


The _something_ Zuko went to take care of is revealed in the form of new plane tickets. One extra day in Barcelona, to be spent out at sea. Apparently, Aang’s quicksilver curiosity has ruined his own engagement.

“Nothing is ruined,” he reassures Zuko, but Zuko only side-eyes him in silence. “you can still take me out on the fancy yacht, Zuko. I _want_ to.”

“I know you want to,” Zuko says evenly. He’s admittedly despondent about having his engagement plans thwarted — by his own carelessness in not bringing the ring box with him the _one time_ , no less. “we’re still going, don’t worry.”

Aang rocks the hammock. “Are you mad?”

“Yes. No.” Zuko sighs as Aang stills in his arms. “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“ _Believe_ me, Zuko, I’m surprised.”

“Oh?” Zuko lets out a wry laugh. “Sorry about that.”

“What?” Aang frowns. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I wanted to _surprise_ you, but I don’t know if I like the thought of you being surprised that I want to _marry_ you.”

Aang looks up at him, his clear gray eyes bright with a pure adoration that makes Zuko’s heart sing.

“Zuko Rokura,” Aang says slowly. “I love you, and I am yours. With or without some fancy proposal, or this ring.”

Zuko feels his disappointment dissipate by the fraction as he captures Aang’s mouth in a searing kiss. Fire starts in his chest, and he carries it with him as they depart their hotel to weigh anchor instead, holds it heavy in his lungs during their candle-lit dinner on the edge of the bow, only daring to pour it out when the skyline of Barcelona glitters in the distance and he’s got his hands on Aang’s hips in a slow dance under the sparkle of Cassiopeia.

“Aang,” he asks carefully, fire swelling painfully in his throat at the happy, content hum he receives in answer. “will you marry me?”

Aang tilts down and slants his mouth over his, pulling the fire clean from his lungs and leaving simmering embers to lick down his veins.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, and Zuko feels his disappointment as nothing but a distant memory. “a thousand times, _yes_.”

* * *

Barcelona is a dream but there’s nothing like home. Watching Calgary’s sparkling skyline come into view from above the cusp of the river is a balm as their plane descends. Summer had set in the city in their absence, the streets below thrumming with action, despite the nearing hours and the air, according to the pilot, that’s now pleasantly cool instead of hellishly chilly or witheringly dry.

“Zuko,” Aang bounces excitedly on the balls of his feet as they wait for their luggage. He hadn’t slept much on the last leg of their flight, and Zuko can tell by the gleam in his eye that he’s caught a second wind. “Zuko, I want _pizza._ ”

Zuko holds back a groan. Aang only likes pizza from _one_ Red Swan location, and it is _not_ on the way home.

“One does not simply _drive past the house_ , Aang,” is what he says, but then he sees a pout coming on. Zuko shakes his head, laughing at his boyfriend despite himself. “You’re lucky I’m in love with you.”

“I am, aren't I?” Aang laughs back as Zuko spots their bags, but Zuko doesn’t miss how Aang stops his bouncing to thumb at the band of diamonds on his finger. It hits him, right then, that his _fiancé_ wants pizza. 

Not his boyfriend.

His fiancé.

His _husband_.

Zuko returns with their duffels with swift steps, dropping them nearby in the midst of his stride. He sees Aang’s brow furrow, sees his face twist in mild confusion and his mouth fix to voice his question, but Zuko stops for naught; curls his hand around the side of the column of Aang’s neck and pulls him down so that he can slip his tongue between the soft part of his lips kiss him dizzy.

Aang’s hands fly to his shoulders, and Zuko hungrily swallows the startled, pleased thing of a sound that he lets out. Someone nearby wolf whistles. Zuko ignores them in favor of peppering butterfly kisses up Aang’s jaw. 

“Whatever you want,” he rumbles, heart singing. “I promise.”


End file.
